


Flower Petal

by GilliganGoodfellow



Series: Jaskier’s Monster [8]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cats, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Families of Choice, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Found Family, Gen, Gilligan sucks at writing romance, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues, Mother-Son Relationship, Platonic Relationships, Polymorph Spell, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Post-Episode: s01e08 Much More, Season 2 spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, What is this cannon of which you speak, possibly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:40:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23379262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GilliganGoodfellow/pseuds/GilliganGoodfellow
Summary: There may have been a time when Yennefer had found such domesticity sickening. But not now.--Yennefer finds Chireadan after Sodden Hill, and together they find Jaskier.
Relationships: Chireadan & Jaskier | Dandelion, Chireadan & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Chireadan/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion & Lambert, Jaskier | Dandelion & Triss Merigold, Jaskier | Dandelion & Vesemir, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Lambert & Aiden
Series: Jaskier’s Monster [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1606360
Comments: 138
Kudos: 543
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	1. Flower Petal

**Author's Note:**

> Diving into proper AU at this point, with a sprinkling of what I know from the book/game lore. So POSSIBLE spoilers for the tv series, depends on what they do and don't use.
> 
> Set after the last episode of season 1.

The cat lives with the old lady in the wooden hut. And here, the cat is cared for. 

“Oh, my petal, what happened?”

The cat holds up its paw, meowing pitifully as the splinter shifts slightly. The old lady lifts it up, resting it in her lap as she carefully puts the splinter between her finger nails, and pulls it out. When she is done, she holds the cat close, stroking its fur while it purrs.

“There my petal, all better.”

The cat rests there. Being held. 

Later it eats the chicken she gives it, and then watches birds through the window. In the evening the old lady carries it to her bed, and it sleeps beside her on the soft blanket. 

Life is happy for the cat. Life is good for the cat.

There are no monsters here.

* * *

There may have been a time when Yennefer had found such domesticity sickening. But not now. 

Waking to a sunlit room, her eyes settle on a small vase on the bedside table, with a single purple flower.

Yennefer smooths out her sleeping clothes and then carries the vase with her downstairs. She finds the source of her new gift in the kitchen.

“Chireadan, you romantic.” 

The elf looks over his shoulder, throwing her a smile. 

“Lilac.” He says as he turns to face her. “A favourite of yours, I assumed. Judging by your perfume.”

She nods, stroking the petal of the flower. “I didn’t know that it grew around here.”

“If you know where to look.”

“Thank you.”

Chireadan. Chireadan who had found her after she had woken up alone in the house in Rinde. Who had given her a place to lay low while the mayor hunted her. A place to consider her next move. 

Chireadan who had asked for nothing in return but a single kiss.

“Find me again if you ever need a place to feel safe.”

And Yennefer remembered those words. They echoed in her mind as she screamed over the burning fields of Sodden Hill, her thoughts haunted by battle and pain, by Sabrina’s fall, by Triss taking what may have been her final breaths by the gate. And Sodden Hill dissolved. Chaos consumed her. 

For the first time in her adult life, Yennefer wanted nothing more than to run. 

And in that last moment, the portal surrounded her…

_Find me again if you ever need a place to feel safe_.

...and spat her out into the elf’s hallway.

Chireadan asks nothing of her, even after she literally drops into his life. Even after he nurses her back to health.

They have their own rooms in his house, and they have their own schedules. His little gifts are simply that, small tokens to make her smile.

Yennefer establishes herself as a mage in the town. She spends her days helping the likes of farmers with sick livestock and couples in need of ‘mechanical’ assistance. 

Chireadan works at the hospital. 

Yennefer gives him nearly half of all of her earnings. He insists on a lower rent, but she refuses to accept his hospitality for less.

She knows that the elf loves her, and she also knows that he will only consider acting on those feelings when he believes that she loves him back. But while Chireadan has become a valued friend in the months since Sodden Hill, Yennefer is not ready to love again. Not like that. Not yet.

She doesn’t know if she ever will be.

In the evenings they take turns to cook, and share stories over the dinner table. 

It’s peaceful.

“The Pellar Witch in Dol Angra is said to be powerful.” Chireadan says, before taking a bite of his meal.

“She is also an expert in the older magics, especially polymorph.” Yennefer moves the food around her plate with her fork. “She may be able to help me.” She takes a bite.

“To change your shape?”

She swallows her mouthful while shaking her head. “To augment my shape.” She rests a hand over her abdomen.

“Will you allow me to accompany you?”

“Surely you have better things to do than follow me to Dol Angra on a folly?”

“No, actually.” Chireadan smiles. “I find my schedule to be quite empty.”

Yennefer chuckles, and looks down at her plate.

“Do you ever think about becoming a father, Chireadan?”

“No.” He smiles. “My cousin has three children and grey hair as a result.”

Yennefer laughs. 

“But, were I to find myself with someone I was charged to protect, then I would of course do what I could for them.”

She smiles.

* * *

The Pellar’s hut is a surprisingly well kept wooden building on the edge of the Dol Angra town. A small garden of herbs lines their path on both sides, and a collection of chickens runs around the far edge, clucking away. 

Chireadan steps forward, knocking. And after a moment, the door is opened by an elderly woman wrapped in sheepskin clothes. A cat sits in her arms, purring as it looks at their guests, focusing on Yennefer.

“Ah visitors, my petal.” The lady says to the cat. “Visitors. Come in.”

Chireadan and Yennefer make eye contact, and Yennefer shrugs before they step into the hut.

“You have a need for me?” The Pellar asks.

“We have coin.” Yennefer nods. “I understand that you are versed in certain...older magics.”

“That depends on who is asking?”

“Yennefer of Vengerberg. This is Chireadan of Rinde. And do not fear. Neither of us have any love for the Brotherhood.”

Chireadan nods.

“I know you.” The Pellar looks at the cat, almost as if asking its opinion. When the cat starts to purr again, she smiles. “And my petal says that I can trust you.”

“I wish to have a child.” Yennefer says.

“A child.” The Pellar nods. “Something to love and care for. To protect.” She kisses the cat’s head. “To help to feel safe.”

“Yes.” Yennefer whispers. 

The Pellar raises her hand, waiting for Yennefer to nod before placing it gently against her abdomen.

“Ah, what you seek is possible. But the process will be long. Difficult. Painful.”

Yennefer tenses, and nods. “I can handle pain.”

Chireadan looks away.

The cat meows, sounding almost sad as it climbs up to rest against The Pellar’s shoulder, letting its owner pet its back for a moment to calm it. 

“Now, now my petal. It is what she wants. Although I will need some rare ingredients.” She puts the cat on the table beside her. “I do not have them all here, nor the means to get them at the moment.”

“I have contacts that may be able to help with supplies.” Chireadan says.

As the Pellar opens and closes various cupboards, Yennefer looks around the room. And that is when she sees it.

The lute case is sat in the corner, covered in a thin layer of dust. 

Gasping, Yennefer crouches beside it, resting a hand on the top, and slowly pulling it away from the wall, looking at the other side of the case. 

And there it is, in thick black ink. 

_Jaskier_

She looks from the lute case to the Pellar. “Where did you get this lute?”

“Oh, it belonged to such a poor boy.” The Pellar smiles, sadely. “A broken soul he was, in so much pain that he could barely speak. I had to read his mind to see what he wanted from me.” 

The case is unlocked, and Yennefer opens it, resting a hand on the lute inside.

“Everything had been taken away.” The Pellar is saying. “His home. His family.” She looks at Chireadan. “I’d always scoffed at the idea of a broken heart, until I saw one up close.”

Yennefer slowly stands. 

“He had loved someone, the white wolf.” The Pellar says the name as if it hurts her mouth. “And he had been loved back. For years. But then it slowly slipped away. The man he loved turned on him. Wished him gone.”

Yennefer remembers. She remembers finding Jaskier afterwards, in the dwarf’s camp. “He told me he was going to Kaer Morhen. To Vesemir...”

“And force him to pick sides?” The Pellar says, stepping towards Yennefer. “Tear the family apart? Or worse, have them all turn against him. Or all against the white wolf” She sounds angry. “He did not go to Kaer Morhen. He did not want to hurt them.”

The cat looks at Yennefer.

“He went to Sodden Hill, to help in the battle aftermath. He was not a healer, but he knew how to patch up battle wounds. He could be useful there. And that is where he saw the monument, a mage carved rock covered in the names of those who died.” She sighs. “And he saw the fourteenth name on the list.”

_Triss Merigold_

Yennefer lowers her head. Behind her, Chireadan steps forward, placing a hand on her shoulder. 

“He loved her like a sister, and she was gone just like that.” The Pellar snaps her fingers. “And such a horrible way to learn. Such a lonely way. He had so hoped to speak to her again one day. And now he never will.”

Yennefer closes her eyes.

“He was all alone in the world, all alone as grief and depression claimed him right there on Sodden Hill. And he came to my hut with a coin bag in his hand. And he was thinking about the Mayor.”

Yennefer looks up. 

The Pellar nods. “The Mayor when you took his mind, Yennefer. When you left him carefree and without thought or worry.” 

Yennefer looks at Chireadan, then back at the old woman. 

“Ragamuffin.” She whispers.

The Pellar smiles, and nods again.

Yennefer tenses, taking a deep breath. “What happened to him? What happened to my friend? Speak. Did you...”

“Of course not.” The Pellar snaps. “I’m too old and weary to have interest in a plaything. But I could still give the poor soul what he needed.” She strokes the cat, her hand moving round its head to tickle its chin. “A carefree life, no worries, no monsters. And full of the affection and touch and _safety_ that he so desperately craved.” She takes a medallion from her pocket, and dangles it above the cat, chuckling as it reaches up with its paw, fascinated. “You like playing, don’t you my petal.”

Yennefer recognises the medallion instantly, and she feels cold. Behind her, Chireadan gasps.

“Would you like to hold him, Yennefer.” She smiles, sweetly. “He does so love being held.” She strokes the cat again, and then steps back.

Yennefer looks at the cat, looks at The Pellar, and starts to laugh at the joke until she realises that the Pellar’s expression has not changed.

And Yennefer slowly picks the cat up, holding it against her shoulder as she looks down into its face.

And the cat starts to purr.

“He likes you.” The Pellar crosses her arms, smiling.

Yennefer glares at the Pellar.

“And why the anger?” The Pellar asks, quietly. “Nothing is happening here that the boy didn’t ask for.”

Yennefer holds the cat closer and sinks to the floor, folding her legs to sit on her ankles.

She lowers the cat onto her lap, and looks at Chireadan, before turning back to the Pellar.

“You want to force him to endure his grief?”

“I want to help him to heal.” Yennefer says. “I want to protect him.”

“He IS protected.”

The cat meows.

“Not like this.” Yennefer shakes her head.

The Pellar kneels down, looking Yennefer in the eye. Reading her. 

And Yennefer lets her. She leaves nothing in the shadows. Yennefer remembers being fourteen years old, in Aretuza. 

She knows what would have helped her then. Love. Support. Reassurance. Being told that she mattered.

That she was enough.

“You understand.” The Pellar nods. “Then you can help my petal better than I. It is not a child, Yennefer of Vengerberg, so I will not take payment from you. BUT, perhaps you are both what the other needs now.”

The old woman nods, standing and reaching into her pocket for a small blue flower. Without breaking eye contact with the other mage, she puts the flower in her mouth and chews slowly. 

Yennefer unclips her travelling cloak. 

The change is quick, and in the blink of an eye Yennefer is using the cloak to cover the naked form now curled up in front of her, his head in her lap. His greasy hair is long, almost to the chin, and his face is hidden behind a light dusting of stubble.

His eyes are open, staring at the wall. 

“Oh, Jaskier.” She whispers, stroking his hair.

If he hears her, he doesn’t acknowledge it, except to tremble and slowly blink and continue staring, his breathing so slow that he could be asleep like that.

Until the bard starts to quietly cry in her lap.

“Jaskier? Hush, everything is alright.” Chireadan kneels down beside them, stooping to look into Jaskier’s face. “Remember me? Chireadan. It is good to see you again, Jaskier.”

Jaskier doesn’t respond, just stares past the elf, which clearly worries the healer as he looks at Yennefer.

“Thank you.” Yennefer says to the Pellar. “We will be leaving now.”

Chireadan doesn’t even need to be asked to wrap the cloak tighter around Jaskier before lifting him, standing with the human in his arms. The bard’s height makes it awkward, but the elf has carried more than his fair share of patients. He manages. 

Yennefer brushes Jaskier’s hair from his face, smiling at him. 

“Where are his clothes?” She says to the Pellar.

“The clothes were not worth keeping.” She reaches forward, and drops the wolf medallion into Yennefer’s outstretched palm. 

“We can find something in the town, Yen.” Chireadan says.

She nods. 

He turns to the Pellar. “Will he remember his time with you?”

“It will be like remembering a vivid dream, but yes.”

“Then thank you.” Chireadan gives her a small bow of his head. “I believe that you have given him a few months of happy memories.”

“And I shall miss you, my little flower petal.” She places a hand on the side of Jaskier’s face. “But you are with your friends now. They will heal you. I can see it.”

She turns to Yennefer. “Clearly destiny wanted you to find him here.”

“Destiny can fuck itself.” Yennefer says

The Pellar chuckles, but then becomes sincere. “Take care of my petal.”

“I will, I promise.” Yennefer places a hand on the pellar’s shoulder for a moment, before she follows Chireadan out, the lute case on her back. 

The bard blinks, but is otherwise silent as they carry him to their cart, apparently content to just let the world do whatever it wants to do.

He had been happy. He had been cherished. There had been play. But now the safety is gone and the monster is back and it is stronger than it has ever been. 

And Jaskier can’t fight it anymore.

He doesn’t want to even try.

What’s the point?

On the back of the cart, a hand gently squeezes his own, and Jaskier’s head is encouraged to rest against someone’s lap again as he curls on his side under a cloak.

He closes his eyes, and concentrates on the hand in his hair. 

It feels like a hand on fur. And it lets Jaskier dream and pretend for a little while longer.


	2. Olive Branches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, for all the awesome comments and kudos. You are too kind <3 <3 <3

Lambert sits in the corner of the Nowhere Inn, eyes looking out over the patrons of the tavern, forever vigilant of threats.

The door opens, and he focuses on the newcomer. The hooded figure is drenched from the rain, cloak heavy as he approaches Lambert’s table without a word. He removes the cloak to reveal Witcher's eyes and a medallion. But where Lambert’s medallion is of the wolf, this one is of a cat.

“You’re late.” Lambert mutters.

“Now be nice.” Dropping the cloak on the back of the chair, the Witcher sits down. “I’ll have you know that I cancelled a reservation at the Passiflora in order to meet you here.”

“My heart bleeds, Aiden.”

“I’m sure it does.” Aiden beckons the barkeep over, holding up coins for the drink she leaves on the table. “So, why the summons? Shouldn’t you be wintering in that cozy castle by now.”

“I have a contract for you.”

“Oh how exciting.” Aiden sips the drink, before glancing at it with the expression that someone might spare excrement on their shoe. “And who have you managed to piss off this time?”

Lambert shakes his head. “Actually, I’m the one whose pissed.”

Aiden lowers the drink. “Geralt.”

Lambert looks at him.

“Lambert, there are only TWO people on this continent that can get under your skin. Geralt of Rivia, and that Duke in Redania with the pimple. And as the latter is dead…”

“He fucked up.” Lambert scoffs. “Geralt had something beautiful and he FUCKED it over.” He shrugs. “And now…”

He sighs. “We need you to find someone.”

“We being you and Geralt?”

“Fuck Geralt.” Lambert snaps. “This is me, Eskel and Vesemir. Coin is the old man’s. I recommended you.”

“I’m flattered.” Aiden smiles. “And the target?”

“Julian Pankratz.”

“Your bard friend?” Aiden nods. “Alright. Any idea where I should begin?”

“Continent.”

Aiden laughs, which earns a few glances from the other patrons in the tavern.

“I appreciate your admiration for my tracking skills, Lambert, but I may need a BIT more than that.”

Lambert glares at him. “You can rule out Kaer Morhen.”

Aiden finished his drink, and stands. “How well would you say you know Master Pankratz?”

“As well as I know you.”

Aiden raises an eyebrow. “That well?”

“Aiden.” Lambert’s tone is a warning.

“Alright.” The other Witcher dons the cloak again. “Follow me.”

“Where are we going?”

“We’re going to speak to an Oneiromancer who owes me a favour.”

* * *

Yennefer and Chireadan park the cart in a small but sheltered clearing near the edge of the road. Here, Chireadan unclips the horse, tying it to a tree near a patch of grass before helping Yennefer to put up a tent.

“It will be a tight squeeze with three of us.”

Yennefer chuckles, and lifts the flap. “Go on in.”

She waits outside with a smirk on her face, which grows wider when she hears the elf shout something VERY profane in Elder. 

“How?” His head pokes back through the flaps of the tent. “How?”

“Enough room for three?” She says, before turning back to the cart, and sighing. 

Jaskier isn’t asleep, but neither is he awake as he lays against the travelling bag acting as his pillow. The baggy, bright red shirt he is wearing goes down to his knees, finished off by a plain pair of cotton trousers and simple walking boots. It’s a thousand miles from the bard’s usual style, but Yennefer was aiming for comfort when she magiced the outfit into existence.

She had taken the opportunity to examine Jaskier while helping him to dress, looking for signs of injury or mistreatment, but finding none. In fact, the bard seems to be in good shape physically, well fed and even in his muscle tone. The old Pellar’s methods may have been unusual...and certainly beyond Yennefer’s understanding...but she had clearly been taking good care of him. 

She unconsciously reaches out to stroke his hair. He responds only by closing his eyes, turning his face into the pillow. And Yennefer wonders if she has done the right thing. 

Jaskier had been happy, loved, and completely free of his illness for maybe the first time in his adult life, and Yennefer had dragged him away from that without a thought.

She shakes her head. What is done is done.

“I like your hair long.” She says, her voice quiet as her fingers continue through the strands. “It suits you.” She smirks, taking a chance. “Starting to look a little grey in places though.”

It had become a signature part of their friendship. Mock jibes and comments about each other's lack of ageing. Wrinkles. Grey hair. Neither had them, but that didn’t stop them from being pointed out.

Their relationship had soured recently. A contract had gone south, Yennefer losing control of her chaos and leaving Geralt and Jaskier both injured in blind pursuit of her goals. She had apologised almost instantly, and bless him Jaskier had at least said he had forgiven her. But he had also clearly not been pleased to see her at the Dragon Hunt.

_“Witchers are bound to bump into monsters eventually.”_

_“The crow’s feet are new.” An olive branch._

_“Yeah, well, your jokes are old.”_

After all, Yennefer was dangerous.

She had hoped for the chance to repair her friendship with the bard, but then the Hunt and its fallout had happened, and Jaskier had told her that he was going to Kaer Morhen.

She had left it there. Rekindling their friendship would be a chance for another day. 

Best to give it time, she had thought. Time was always the best healer, anyway. And both Yennefer and Jaskier had time, after all. 

Now she regrets not grabbing the bard’s hand there and then, and insisting that they talk. But she had been dealing with her own upset. Her own tears. 

She shakes her head, and forgives herself for that. Yennefer wallowing in self doubt is the LAST thing Jaskier needs right now.

“It’s good to see you again. I’ve...I’ve missed our talks.”

Jaskier looks away. 

“It’s alright. I know you don’t feel up to talking right now. Coming out of a polymorph spell can be disorienting. Give yourself time. Stay quiet, if it makes things easier for you. Whatever makes things easier for you. Whatever helps you to feel...safe.”

He turns to look at her, eyes wide, as if pleading for something, before looking away and squeezing those same eyes shut. 

“Jaskier. May I? I just want to see what you want. Just concentrate on that, try to think of nothing else.” 

She looks into his mind…

_“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.”_

_A memory. He drops the empty wine bottle, stumbling against the wall and sliding down to the ground, enjoying the silent hum that intoxication brings to his mind._

_Until the hollowness replaces it._

_“Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it's you shoveling it?”_

_He strokes his thumb over the wolf shape on his medallion. Over and over. All the time trying to control his breathing. All the time trying to focus on facts. But what are they?_

_“It's like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling.”_

_He throws the medallion at the wall, then panics, crawling towards it and picking up carefully, gently, as if the medallion can feel pain and Jaskier has just hurt it._

_He wants to go home._

_YOU’LL RUIN THEIR LIVES JUST LIKE YOU DID THE GERALT’S._

_It wasn’t my fault._

_They don’t want you. Geralt is their brother. Vesemir’s son. Not you._

_Triss. He thinks of Triss._

_He remembers their last conversation. It had been so mundane._

_If he had known, he would have called her his sister. Said that he loved her._

_She was the last thread._

_He has nothing now._

Yennefer snaps herself out of the conduit, tears on her face as she looks back down at the lonely boy. Gods, compared to her years, he is still a boy.

The emotional bleed alone is enough to rob her of her senses for a moment. No wonder Jaskier is mute.

She wants to sit there and question every single anxiety he has. _“Triss knew you loved her. Vesemir and the others won’t hate you. You were not to blame for Geralt’s destiny.”_ But not now. 

She looks at his thoughts again. And there, she sees what he needs now, what he needs but is so afraid of asking for. Of reaching for. Because Yennefer will refuse. He doesn’t deserve it. 

Except she doesn’t refuse. Because he does deserve it. 

Nodding, she carefully maneuvers herself so that she is sat up next to him in the cart, her legs outstretched, and helps Jaskier to shift so that instead of being laid against the bag he is curled up against her side, his head on her shoulder, and her arm around him, the other hand running up and down his back in a slow, smooth rhythm, alternating this with occasional, gentle tracing with her fingers.

She feels him relax against her, sighing as he accepts the hug, and Yennefer thinks that she finally understands the Pellar.

Because Yennefer will do everything in her power, she will watch the world burn, to stop Jaskier from being hurt again.

She reconnects with his mind.

“I remember the first time I watched you perform, in the tavern. You controlled the room, like a mage in your own right. Everyone sang along with you. The children danced in a circle.” She finds the memory, and pulls it out, covering Jaskier’s mind like a blanket.

Resting against her, his eyes closed, Jaskier starts to hum, and Yennefer smiles.

“That’s it.” Yennefer smiles. “And I am going to do everything in my power to help you to perform again. I’m going to help you, my friend.”

Jaskier opens his eyes at the word friend, looking at her, and she startles as she feels the bard taking her hand, his eyes focused on her. 

And there is another memory. Jaskier is watching Yennefer in that same tavern, knelt in front of a group of village children. The youngest of the children is sat on her lap, curled against her. 

Yennefer is animated as she tells them a story, her hands moving to visualise her words, actions that the children mimic as they enjoy her tale of adventure. Of monster hunters and magic and heroes.

After the story, one of the children puts a flower in Yennefer’s hair. 

Yennefer breaks the conduit, reaching up to wipe the tears from her face, before resting her head against the top of the bard’s. 

“We are going to care for eachother.”

They sit like that in silence for who knows how long, before Yennefer turns to find Chireadan standing beside her. 

“We should get him into the tent. It will be dark soon.”

“Just a little while longer.” She says, rocking the now sleeping bard. 

“Not how I expected today to go.” Chireadan quips, smiling as he climbs into the cart, sitting facing her.

“I...I have no right to ask this of you, Chireadan, but…”

“But I am going to need a bigger house.” The elf says, chuckling. 

After a moment, Yennefer chuckles as well, but then falls silent. 

“I told you.” He says, quietly. “Were I to find myself with someone I was charged to protect, then I would of course do what I could for them.”

“Jaskier is not your responsibility.”

“I will not join the line of people who turned him away.” Chireadan is stern as he speaks. “Nor will I turn you away.”

Yennefer smiles. “Thank you.”

* * *

“Where the FUCK is Sodden Hill?”

“Sodden, funnily enough.” Aiden’s tone is light. “Yaruga river, near Cintra. Your friend is about to drag us across the continent.”

“He travelled from Kovir to Cintra?” Lambert shakes his head. “He would have PASSED Kaer Morhen to get there. Why…” He groans with frustration. “Let’s go.”

“Now?”

“No, Aiden I thought I’d leave it a month. YES NOW.”

“It’s 3am?”

“And?” Lambert throws his hands into the air, and continues walking. 

Aiden looks at the sky, and sighs. “Wolves.”


	3. Contracts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, rewatching the series recently and dammit if there isn't a scene towards the end that I'd forgotten about, that basically confirms that Triss hasn't seen or heard from Geralt since the Strigga. But sod it, my fanfic, my rules <3 <3 <3
> 
> Also, thank you for all the awesome comments and kudos. I'll be over here, melting into a puddle, if anyone needs me.

“Caer Conyn.” Triss whispers. Then louder. “Caer Conyn.”

Nothing. 

“Take a breath.” Yennefer says, placing her hands over Triss’s on the ground. “Say it with me…”

“Caer Conyn.”

When nothing happens, Triss shakes her head. 

“Maybe Caer Conyn needs you to say please.”

“Jaskier.” Yennefer scolds, harshly. “Be USEFUL or be somewhere else.”

“Just trying to lighten the mood.” He steps forward, looking at Triss as she stands. “No one said learning can’t be fun...actually, several professors at the college said that, but I believe in a different philosophy. My class, they always laughed. Sometimes at me I’ll admit, but it was still laughing.” He crosses his arms. “Triss you’re learning a new spell, this is exciting. Laugh.”

“This is failure.” She mutters.

“There is no such thing.” Jaskier argues. “Only delayed success.”

“Please take over, Professor Pankratz. I’m sure the seven liberal arts will help Triss to master this very complicated spell.”

Triss gently swats Yennefer on the arm.

Jaskier chuckles. “Well, if I MAY?”

Yennefer smirks, and takes a step to the side, sweeping her arm to invite Jaskier to take her place.

“Alright.” Jaskier nods. “So, little exercise when a student struggled with something. Give me a moment to...adapt it. Unless you can play the lute?” 

Triss shakes her head, her hands reaching up to brush some of her black hair away from her face.

“Alright. Now.” He takes off his medallion, and holds it in his palm. “Lift this without touching it.”

“Any child can...”

“ANY child, Triss?” Jaskier raises an eyebrow. “It’s not something that I can do.”

After a moment, Triss nods, and looks at the medallion, her eyes following it as it slowly rises into the air, and seems to place itself back around Jaskier’s neck.

“Good.” He smiles. “Now, make a flame come out of your hand.”

She holds out her hand, and the flame extends from her fingers.

“You didn’t even have to think about that.” Jaskier smiles. “And now, what am _I_ thinking?”

Triss looks at the thought, and smiles. “Me doing the spell.”

“You can do SO much. You can make fire, lift objects with your thoughts. You can do this too.” He kneels with her on the ground, bringing both her hands down to their previous position against the soft dirt. “You know you can. _I_ know you can. We’re working on Yen.”

Yennefer laughs.

Triss nods, and closes her eyes. “Caer Conyn.”

And the vines slowly climb up behind Jaskier, forming a wall.

“I...I did it.”

“Of course you did.” Jaskier smiles, winking at Yennefer, who smiles back, clearly pleased.

And Triss laughs.

* * *

“ _Damn it, Jaskier! Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you shoveling it_ ? _The Child Surprise, the djinn, all of it! If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take_ YOU _off my hands.”_

_The Child Surprise, the djinn, all of it!_

**_All of it!_ **

Jaskier lays awake, listening to the gentle breathing of his companions.

Yennefer is laid on her side, one hand resting on Jaskier’s chest, as if feeling his heartbeat. 

Chireadan sleeps with his eyes open, and Jaskier can’t help but stare at the elf for a moment, laid on his back on the bard’s other side, snoring quietly.

Jaskier bites his bottom lip, and turns back to Yennefer.

He’ll ruin it. 

**_All of it!_ **

If it had not been for Jaskier, Geralt would never have met Yennefer. Would never have had the chance to bind their destiny, to break both their hearts. But through Jaskier they met and destroyed each other. 

If it had not been for Jaskier, Yennefer would be with the old Pellar woman now, on the path towards the child she so desired. But because of Jaskier, she left her cure behind.

And now Jaskier is lying between Yennefer and Chireadan. And how long before he ruins them? Destroys their lives even more?

Yennefer should hate him. Maybe she does. But then, this doesn’t make sense.

THIS doesn’t make sense. She should hate him. 

He has to run. It is for their own good.

He carefully moves Yennefer’s hand away, lifting it and pressing a gentle kiss to the back of the fingers before resting it on the pillow case. 

Then he slowly works his way down to the foot of the bed, standing on shaking feet. They are bare, but he doesn’t stop to put his boots on. 

What’s the point?

He takes one last look at Yennefer and Chireadan, and then runs out of the tent. 

He runs like destiny itself is chasing him. 

_The Child Surprise, the djinn, all of it!_

He has to get away.

His chest hurts. His legs ache. He runs. Screams. It burns all around him, is the world on fire?

Everything is dred. Everything is the world crashing around him. 

His stomach feels like he has swallowed rocks, he can feel the sharp edges scratching, the weight of them.

He can’t think for fear. He can smell it on himself.

“Jaskier!”

 _Yennefer_.

He collapses to his knees. 

“Jaskier.”

_Chireadan._

Voices calling in the forest, in the shadows. Looking for him. Hunting him. No, he has to run. It’s for their own good.

_I’m doing you a favour._

He gets up, stumbles, falls to his knees again. Grabs the sides of his head. 

_‘Jaskier. Please. We are not going to hurt you.’_

_‘Yen?’_

There’s a bird in the trees. A raven. 

Eleanor.

_‘Jaskier. Why are you running? What is frightening you?’_

_‘The Child Surprise, the djinn, all of it!’_

_‘None of that was your fault, Jaskier.’_

_‘ALL OF IT WAS! Your destiny. Stolen because of me. IF I HADN’T...’_

_‘Jaskier…’_

_‘I’m sorry.’_

_‘I forgive you.’_

He looks up at the raven. 

_‘I forgive you, Jaskier. If that is what you need, then I forgive you for the djinn. And what it lead to. I forgive you. And you can forgive yourself. Please. Come back with us. Be my friend again.’_

_‘I’m not your friend.’_

_‘I want you to be.’_

He shakes his head, trying to force Yennefer out of his mind. ‘ _Why? I’m nothing. Geralt said as much. I’m nothing.’_

_‘Not to Triss.’_

He closes his eyes.

_‘If you won’t let me do this for you, Jaskier, then PLEASE, let me do this for her. For the day when you write her into her own song and sing it. So that she can be remembered by the world. She deserves that.’_

_“Don’t think that my being here means that I’ve forgiven you for that song translation, Julian Pankratz.”_

He smiles as he remembers her voice.

 _‘She’d never have told you, but the red hair mistake always made her smile.’_ Yennefer’s voice is bright. ‘ _You ALWAYS made her smile, Jaskier. You made her laugh.’_

Eleanor squawks, and flies down to sit on the ground in front of Jaskier, looking up at him.

_‘You loved her. You loved Geralt. And you loved the witchers. You love everyone you meet. And they ALL love you back. TRISS loves you. She always will. And...somewhere behind that thick skull of his, so does Geralt. Eleanor, come back.’_

The raven fades away. 

Jaskier KNOWS that Yennefer and Chireadan are standing behind him now. That they’ve found him. He closes his eyes, slumping like a dropped puppet, his chin against his chest, his heavy hands limp on the ground. His entire body trembles. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice is hoarse, slurred by months of disuse. “I’m so sorry.”

They are both his first and last words, as he collapses completely, barely having the strength to sustain the sobs, they sound pitiful, like hiccoughs. And arms surround him, two figures sitting on either side and embracing each other around him, holding him between them. His face is pressed against a solid chest, and he recognises the colour of Chireadan’s shirt as he sobs into the material.

“For Triss.” Yennefer whispers into his hair. “And for yourself as well, Jaskier. Because YOU deserve happiness. And we will find that happiness for you again. Together. The three of us. You’re not alone in this.”

Jaskier sobs himself to exhaustion, his eyes hurting with how tired he is, limbs as good as stone.

“You can do SO much.” Yennefer says. “You can do this too. I know you can. And so does Triss.” Her smile widens. “And the witchers, Vesemir, Lambert and Eskel. They know it too. They always believed in you.” She picks up his medallion, holding it out where he can see it. “I know it feels hopeless right now, but I promise you won’t ALWAYS feel like this. You are going to get through this. We will help you.”

Jaskier closes his eyes, and tries to believe.

 _Focus on the facts_.

 _‘I love you_ .’ Yennefer’s voice. ‘ _That is a fact.’_

It brings on a new wave of sobbing, one that steals time from the bard, leaving him in a daze, collapsed against Chireadan as the elf pulls him into his lap, letting Jaskier curl against him, trembling. 

He clutches at Chireadan’s shirt, then lets it go, realising himself. “Mmm Sorry.”

“Shhh, it’s alright my friend.” Chireadan says, encouraging Jaskier’s hand back against the fabric. “Remember? Contract...”

* * *

“You always said I had the most wonderful singing voice.” Jaskier knows that it is a lie, but he says it anyway. He says it while willing Geralt to march out of the house and make a comment about fillingless pies.

He’s brought out of his trance by the blood stained elf collapsing in front of him, looking like he hasn’t quite decided yet whether to cry or laugh as he places a gentle hand on the bard’s shoulder. 

“They’re alive.”

And Jaskier’s brain stops working for a second. 

“Bollocks.”

He stands quickly, approaching the broken window. “Geralt?”

He looks through, and there is Geralt. Alive. Breathing. 

He laughs under his breath. “Oh, they’re alive.”

And then Jaskier’s brain starts working again. 

“They’re really alive! Wow.” He only half feels the elf grab his arm. “I mean, he…woah, hang on.”

“Come on.” The elf’s voice is no nonsense as he half drags Jaskier to a particularly large piece of broken building, where he is sat while the elf crouches in front of him, gently feeling his throat.

Jaskier can’t help closing his eyes at the tender touch.

“Any pain?” The elf’s fingers gently rest over the cartilage of Jaskier’s throat.

The bard shakes his head, opening his eyes again. “Are you alright? You’re covered in blood and…” He grimaces. “Are those...brain fragments?”

“Luckily it was a small brain.” The elf quips, taking a cloth and slowly wiping the blood away from the corner of the bard’s mouth. 

“I’m Jaskier.”

“Chireadan.” The elf nods, leaving the cloth on the ground and collapsing back to sit, glassy eyes focused on the house.

Jaskier waits a moment, before slowly slipping down to the ground next to the healer. 

“I know that look.” Jaskier says, solemnly. “Unrequited love? She’s in there, with Geralt.”

“I am a fool.” Chireadan’s voice is quiet.

“Let’s be best friends forever.” Jaskier rests the side of his head against Chireadan’s shoulder for a moment, before looking down at where his hands are resting in his lap. 

When the elf doesn’t reply, Jaskier sighs and reaches out, patting Chireadan on the back. And Chireadan looks at him, at this human man maybe less than a third of Chireadan’s age who just a few hours ago was staring death in the face thanks to a djinn. Who awoke to find himself trapped in a room with a mad witch. Who has just spent the last handful of minutes thinking his friend had died. 

This young man who has every reason right now to break down and demand a hug, but is instead quietly comforting the lovesick fool that is Chireadan as if the elf is his best friend and always has been.

And Chireadan can’t help but see the bard as a friend back. It’s like a spell. 

“I’m supposed to be looking after YOU.” He mutters after a moment. 

“Well.” Jaskier smiles. “One day, I’ll be the one upset and then you can comfort me.” He holds out his hand. “Contract?”

Chireadan accepts the handshake. “Contract.”

* * *

In Yennefer and Chireadan’s arms, Jaskier falls asleep.


	4. Construct

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, for all the lovely kudos and comments <3 <3 <3 You are too kind, and my heart always jumps whenever a new one comes in.

Jaskier is only half awake, hearing the world around him.

“I know that we are losing daylight, but after last night, I think we should let him sleep.” 

“Of course.” Yennefer says. “We planned to stay in Dol Angra for months. A few extra days to our journey back won’t hurt.”

“Maybe we do not need to leave, yet.” Chireadan says, a smile in his voice. “We could stay here.”

“In the tent?” Yennefer chuckles. 

“We have supplies. Coin. The town is nearby for food, and there is a stream for water. The Pellar is only half a day away if Jaskier misses her badly. And...she’s still there if you change your mind.”

“Change my mind about what?” Yennefer sounds defensive.

“The child.”

Yennefer sighs, and Jaskier feels an arm reach across him, delicate fingers tracing down the left side of his face. 

“I haven’t changed my mind.” Yenefer says. “It’s just...having a child isn’t as important right now. Not as important as HIM. His health and happiness are all that I care about right now...” Her voice cracks.

“Does that frighten you, Yen?”

“I’m...it’s been a long time since I’ve cared for someone in this way” A pause. “I can’t explain it. All I know is that I would DIE for him. And I will fight anything that threatens him, even you. And you’re right, that terrifies me.” 

Yennefer sighs. “I know he’s not a child.” A hand brushes through Jaskier’s hair. “He’s in his forties, believe it or not. He looks SO much younger. So young compared to me...us? How old are you?” 

“Old enough to have seen the great cleansing.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what, Yennefer? You had not even been born.”

A pause, and Jaskier wonders if Yennefer is smiling, or sad.

“Jaskier needs someone to care for him right now.” The sorceress says. “His grief nearly destroyed him, maybe it DID destroy him. And now he needs someone to help him to come back from that.

“But what if I’m not enough? I don’t even know HOW to help him. Triss knew Jaskier’s illness better than me.”

A hand rests on Jaskier’s chest. 

“I am afraid that my healer education did not cover broken hearts. Or illnesses of the mind. But recovery from PHYSICAL injuries and illness benefits from rest in a peaceful environment.”

“Well, this clearing certainly is peaceful.” Yennefer has a smile in her voice. “Then I agree. Let’s stay here. Let him rest. We don’t need to be back on the road yet.”

And Jaskier takes that thought back into sleep, feeling their arms around him as they settle on either side of him on the bed.

He can’t remember the last time he felt this safe.

* * *

Yennefer had always taken her time to get ready in the morning. She would not face the world until her hair was perfect, her makeup immaculate, and her outfit exquisite. She insisted, whatever the days events may be, on being a vision of beauty.

Once finished, she would look into the mirror, and for a few minutes each morning, Yennefer became a child again. A child with a twisted spine and deformed jaw, dreaming.

For a few minutes each morning, Yennefer became a child seeing her dream come true.

Recently though, the makeup has been basic. Yennefer dons a simple, yet still attractive outfit, and her hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail, from which strands escape. 

Ready for the day, she smiles into the mirror, and turns away. 

Chireadan has left to exercise the horse, and Yennefer decides to go into the town, bringing Jaskier with her. 

This morning, Jaskier dressed himself without needing to be coaxed or helped, and Yennefer wonders if she should point it out or keep quiet. She is walking the tightrope between encouraging the bard’s recovery and patronising him because of course he dressed himself! He’s an adult! 

She feels, sometimes, that that tightrope is over a pit of neckers.

“Are those Chireadan’s clothes?” She opts for.

Jaskier nods. “He let me borrow them.”

“They look good on you.”

Jaskier is still very different from the bard she befriended after Rinde. It’s not just the long hair and stubble, kept light by elvish blood but still noticeable across his jaw and cheeks. Jaskier’s entire personality is plain now, instead of flamboyant. His talkative nature has been replaced by someone who is as good as mute, speaking only when prompted. 

Perhaps the worst part though, Yennefer thinks, is that in the days since they set up their camp, she has not once seen Jaskier pick up his lute.

They walk side by side, arms looped, as they reach the edge of the small town, immediately met with the sounds and smell of a busy crossroads market. 

Yennefer sees a stall of small cakes and sweets, and asks for some, allowing Jaskier to slip from her grip and wander the market alone, his attention drawn to the centre. 

Yennefer watches him, her heart sinking slightly as she realises where Jaskier is going.

At the centre of the market, on a small makeshift stage, is a Mummer’s troupe, the spokesperson loudly narrating the story being acted behind him to music and the applause of the crowd. 

Jaskier’s expression is blank as he watches, but his hands soon start to clap of their own accord and he smiles at a joke, becoming lost in the performance. 

All too soon, the play is over, replaced by a music performance, and Jaskier seems to come back down to earth, folding in slightly as he looks at Yennefer, returning her smile with a small one of his own.

“Do you want to talk to them?” She indicates the Mummer’s with a nod.

Jaskier shakes his head, turning his back on the troupe. Yennefer sighs, walking that tightrope again as she wonders how to encourage Jaskier to come out of his shell.

Seeing a tailor shop, an idea forms in the back of her mind. 

“I’m going to buy Chireadan a new coat.” Yennefer says. “His one is looking a little shabby, and he says that magic made clothes itch. Which is ridiculous.” She smiles as they enter the small, but well stocked tailor. “I will no doubt require your male opinion.”

She makes a point of looking at the coats, but soon enough Yennefer’s plan is starting to work. 

Jaskier has drifted towards the doublets, specifically one that looks to Yennefer like it was cut out of a viscount's eccentric curtain collection. Jaskier picks up the sleeve, running his fingers down it, before touching each button in turn. 

The owner of the establishment notices Yennefer’s coin bag, and becomes very interested. 

“Would the gentleman like to try it on?”

Jaskier looks hesitant for a moment, but one look at Yennefer’s smile soon has him nodding, obediently removing his coat.

Jaskier stands with the practice of a well trained noble as the tailor adjusts the doublet around him, stepping back every now and again before finally nodding and leading his customer to the mirror. 

“A few alterations. I can take measurements and have it ready for you in an hour.”

“Thank you.” Yennefer stands beside the bard, looking into the mirror. 

“This doublet comes with matching trousers if the gentleman is interested?”

This time, Jaskier doesn’t need any prompting from Yennefer. He nods straight away. 

If it occurs to Jaskier later that they never buy a coat for Chireadan, he says nothing as he walks out of the tailor shop in his new ‘eccentric curtain’ doublet and trousers, the small smile still on his face.

Jaskier can’t remember the last time he felt happy. And while this feeling he has now isn’t happiness, it is at least not unhappiness.

It’s a start.

Later, back in the tent, Jaskier carefully removes the doublet, hanging it on the wardrobe door before approaching the mirror in his trousers and a vest. 

He looks at his own reflection for a moment, then slowly unlocks and opens the cabinet.

He soon has a bowl of water set up under the mirror, with a razor. He remembers wondering why Chireadan owned one. A full blooded elf couldn’t grow a beard if he tried. Chireadan had explained having to tend to more than one soldier with a broken arm. Carrying the razor had become a habit.

Now, Jaskier carefully picks up the blade, cleaning it with the cloth before holding it up to his face. 

When he is finished, Jaskier splashes water on his face and dries it quickly, moving his hair to one side so that he can examine his work. A couple of nicks, but overall a good job considering he hasn’t had any practice in months. 

Jaskier feels...better, looking after himself in this simple way. 

Sighing, he puts the razor down, and picks up something else. A pair of scissors. 

Life on the road has taught Jaskier more than a few skills, not the least how to maintain a short hairstyle when the nearest barber might be weeks away. It’s a little different, cutting it from so long, the hair tickling as it falls down his shoulders and chest. He should have put a towel around himself first. But he carries on, cutting the hair short, and then into his more usual style with a muscle memory that quickly returns to him.

“Jaskier, we’re getting...ready for dinner.” Yennefer’s voice trails off and Jaskier hesitates for a moment, remembering her comment that she liked his hair long. 

He turns slowly, and relaxes when he sees that the sorceress is smiling.

“Very handsome.” She says, taking the scissors from him. “Sit down, I’ll finish it off for you.”

She sits him in front of the mirror, and Jaskier sees himself looking back for the first time in a long time.

* * *

The doublet and trousers become Jaskier’s default outfit every day except the ones where Chireadan is able to steal them before Jaskier wakes and “wash the fucking things”, much to Yennefer’s amusement.

And so it is that that morning Jaskier is wearing a simpler pair of trousers and a long, loose shirt as he sits cross legged on the bed and draws, or rather doodles. He’s drawn shapes, the odd pattern, and played a game of naughts and crosses with himself (which he won), but otherwise he hasn’t been able to coax anything creative from his brain. But the familiar movement of drawing has been relaxing in itself, enjoying the scratching sound against the paper in the quiet tent.

Yennefer is sitting at the table, reading a book. Next to her, Chireadan is sharpening a dagger.

“Maybe you could freeze the animal, and I could stab the skull. It would be a painless, fearless death.” 

“Yes, Chireadan.” Yennefer shakes her head. “OR maybe we could go to the market, and buy some meat.”

“We would save the coin.”

“We have plenty. And all three of us have in demand skills if things become desperate.”

“If we start establishing ourselves here, we are going to need better than one large bed in a tent.”

She smiles, putting the book down. Then the smile fades, and Yennefer looks over her shoulder at the tent wall, before turning to the entrance. 

“Yen?” Chireadan looks at the entrance, and then back at her. 

From his position on the bed, Jaskier looks up. 

Yennefer lets out a slow breath, then smiles at Chireadan. 

“Come outside with me a moment.”

“Why?” The elf’s eyes widen as Yennefer’s hand takes his.

“Just, come with me.”

 _‘Someone is outside.’_ Chireadan hears in his mind. ‘ _Witchers, by the smell. But one heartbeat is much faster than usual.’_

_‘Cat School.’_

Yennefer’s smile widens. ‘ _We are overdue for a conversation about your past, Chireadan.’_

As she thinks this, she turns to Jaskier. 

“Stay inside the tent, Bard.” She winks. 

Giving her a shy smile, Jaskier nods, returning to his drawing as Yennefer takes Chireadan out of the tent. 

_‘Will Jaskier be safe?’_

Yennefer nods and waves a hand. Behind them, the tent disappears. 

_‘Kiss me.’_ Yennefer says. 

The elf smiles, putting on a performance that he isn’t really acting as he places a hand against the side of Yennefer’s face, gazing into her eyes before pulling her into a gentle kiss. 

As they embrace, they turn slowly, Chireadan glancing past her and, after a moment, bringing his hand down to tap Yennefer’s left hip twice. 

Breaking from the kiss, Yennefer turns, one arm raised as a wave of energy flies out into the area behind them, sending leaves, foliage, and two Witchers straight into a tree. 

They collapse onto the ground, coughing.

Yennefer pats Chireadan on the cheek, and then approaches her fallen foes.

“What do you want?”

“Well, I would quite like the feeling back in my legs.” The Cat school witcher says, before coughing again.

His companion, Wolf school; Yennefer notes, stands with his steel sword already drawn.

Yennefer raises her hand, an almost bored expression on her face, and The Witcher finds himself as good as frozen in time.

“Well.” She says, quietly. “Hello, I’m Yennefer of Vengerberg.”

The witcher’s eyes widen, and he looks left and right.

“You can stay like that while you learn not to raise your sword to a lady, and YOU…” She turns back to the Witcher on the ground.

“Aiden.”

“Aiden.” She smiles. “I have HAD my fill of cats recently, Aiden. And I have DEFINITELY had my fill of Witchers, so I suggest you answer my questions.” She crouches down, a glint in her violet eye. “And do answer with absolute candour.”

The Witcher nods, and smiles.

“Why are you spying on our camp?”

“We’re looking for someone.” 

Yennefer motions with her hand. _Go on._

“A bard, Jaskier. A friend of my companion here.” He indicates the paralysed Lambert with a nod. “Is he turning blue?”

“He’s fine. Why are you looking for Jaskier?”

“The whole bloody Wolf school is looking for him. Lambert just bothered to hire experts.”

“Lambert?” Yennefer looks at the paralysed Witcher. “Geralt’s brother, Lambert?” 

“Yes, and he really IS turning blue.”

Yennefer rolls her eyes, and removes the spell, sending Lambert crashing to his knees as he gets his breath back. 

“You must need more air than Geralt.”

“You did this on...no. No...I don’t want to know.”

Aiden smiles. “Well, I do.” He tries to sit up again, and this time is a bit more successful with some help from Yennefer. 

“Oh good, my feet ARE still there.”

Yennefer turns to Lambert. “Did Geralt send you?”

“No.” Lambert points behind her. “He did.”

Yennefer stands slowly, taking a step back, one hand raised towards Lambert and Aiden as she first glances, then turns completely to look behind her. 

Chireadan is silent, eyes wide, face surprisingly stoic considering he currently has an ornate silver dagger pointed at his throat, a carving of a wolf on the blade.

“Killing him will be your last mistake, Witcher.”

The hooded figure holding Chireadan nods.

“Tell me where the bard is, and I’ll let him go.”

Aiden raises his hand. “I would advise against standing between the wolves and their pup.”

Yennefer looks at Aiden, and then back at the hooded figure again, purple eyes burning. “Let. Him. Go. Or I burn this entire forest, and everyTHING inside it, to ash.”

“Including Julian.”

“I have him magically safe. Unlike your witchers behind me, Vesemir.”

Vesemir chuckles, lowering his hood with one hand, the other still keeping the dagger aimed. 

“How do you know who I am?”

“Pompous has its own smell.” 

Chireadan’s expression says ‘ _you’re cracking jokes NOW’_ for him.

Yennefer looks at each Witcher in turn. “You’ve clearly gone to a lot of trouble to find _Julian_. Why?”

“We care about him.” Lambert says. “What the fuck needs explaining?”

“CARE?” Yennefer turns to face him. “Where were you when Geralt threw him out in Kovir? When Triss died?”

Chireadan feels Vesemir wince. 

Yennefer looks back at the older Witcher. “Where were you when he was hurting so badly that he let a Pellar CURSE him?”

“Where were YOU?” Lambert shouts back.

Yennefer stills, looking at Lambert out of the corner of her eye. “I’m here NOW.”

“And so are we.” Vesemir nods as he slowly lets go of Chireadan, pushing the elf towards Yennefer. “Clearly we ALL have a common interest. Julian’s wellbeing.”

She nods. “Where are Geralt and Eskel?”

Lambert shrugs. “Geralt can’t leave Kaer Morhen. Too dangerous with Cir...Cirilla Fio…”

“Fiona Elen.” Aiden prompts.

“Riannon.” They say together.

“He found his child of surprise.” Yennefer whispers, smiling as Chireadan places a hand on her shoulder.

“And Eskel was looking up Julian’s contacts in Oxenfurt.” Vesemir says. “We couldn’t find him on our way through.”

“How did you find US?” Chireadan asks

“Wasn’t easy.” Aiden said. “Picked up the bard’s trail in Sodden. Learned he had been asking about pellars, so went and visited...oh seven?”

“Six.” Lambert mutters.

“And the sixth said he was travelling through the forest with a crazy witch.” 

Vesemir looks at him. “That’s not what the Pellar called her.”

“She threw us into a tree.”

“Did you hurt the Pellar?” Yennefer asks.

“Yes, because we love to torture old women.” Lambert rolls his eyes. “She’s fine. And wealthy, seeing as we paid her for her information.”

“Yennefer.” Vesemir’s voice is low. “Please. We just want to see that Julian is safe. We have done everything to find him. I have even resorted to hiring witchers from the cat school.”

“I’m right here.” Aiden says.

“I’m not going to hurt him. I assure you that I would NEVER do such a thing.”

“I’m sure Geralt made the same assurances, once.” 

“You knew Triss.” Vesemir nods. “She mentioned you. Yennefer of Vengerberg. She said you were strong. Ambitious.”

“She mentioned you too.” Yennefer looks away. “You called her ‘Little Daughter’, sometimes.” She turns to Lambert. “And you always called her ‘Merigold’, even though it drove her mad.”

Lambert nods, returning her smile.

Vesemir sighs. “We loved Triss. We loved Triss and we lost her. Please, Yennefer. Please don’t take Julian from us as well. Even if all we can have is moments.”

Yennefer looks Vesemir up and down, and then waves her hand, bringing the tent back.

“Chireadan.”

The elf nods, and goes towards the tent. 

“If Jaskier says no, then he says no.” Yennefer says, firmly. “And you all leave, and forget you found us.”

Chireadan enters the tent, leaving the four alone in the clearing for a moment. 

“Is Chireadan your boyfriend?” Lambert asks. 

“Is Aiden yours?” Yennefer quips back. 

Aiden coughs awkwardly.

Chireadan finally steps out of the tent, his hands resting on Jaskier’s shoulders.

Lambert swallows, standing slowly as, with one wary look at the Yennefer, he steps into the clearing. “Jas?”

“Bert?” Jaskier steps forward, already trembling as he looks at his friend’s feet, his own hands, the ground. Anywhere but the eyes of the Witchers standing directly in front of him. “Vesemir?”

“There you are, my boy.” Vesemir’s voice is quiet. “Look at me.”

Jaskier’s face tenses, eyes tightly squeezed shut as Vesemir gently curls a finger under his chin, tilting his face up. 

“Julian.” He says again, his voice firmer. 

Jaskier steels himself, ready for the look of disappointment. Anger. Sadness. He feels a tear escape the corner of his eye, and startles when a calloused thumb brushes it away, the hand cupping the side of his face. And it’s enough. Enough to give him the strength to open his eyes, and he’s shaking and he can’t breath and the eyes looking back at him are warm, strong, joy.

Safe.

“You look well.” Vesemir smiles, bringing their foreheads together. And as suddenly as a snap, Jaskier is eighteen years old again. It’s the day that he made his first kill, the day of his first proper break down. The day that Vesemir sat with him for hours, holding him in a fatherly embrace. 

It’s been twenty three years and it is as if Vesemir never let him go.

They never let him go.

Reaching into the pocket of his trousers, Jaskier carefully pulls out a medallion, holding it up for Vesemir to take. 

“You kept it.” The witcher nods, and puts the medallion around Jaskier’s neck, resting the silver disk against his chest. 

Jaskier’s head falls to the Witcher’s shoulder as Vesemir pulls him into a hug. The bard’s chest has become too tight. His stomach is turning. It is as if all of his emotional pain is becoming physical on its way towards being released into the world, encouraged by the soft hand in his hair, by the strong and familiar arm around his back, holding him close, shielding him from harm.

Jaskier is pretty sure that Vesemir’s embrace is the only reason that he is still standing upright. He can’t concentrate enough to listen to what Lambert is saying as he talks to him, but it is enough for now just to hear his voice. To know that he is still there. That the wolf school hasn’t turned him away. That Jaskier still belongs. That the reality that he had constructed for himself over the last few months had been just that. A construct. 

This is happening NOW. This is fact. This is another puzzle piece in the quest to rebuild Jaskier’s life. The Wolf School is still his.

And that’s his last thought, because he hasn’t got the energy left to even try and think. Everything is a fleeting consideration. Hands in hair. Stillness. Secure. Soft whispers. 

This is home. He is a wolf.

And Jaskier can’t remember the last time that he felt stronger.


	5. What You Want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO TW: Because Jaskier gets pretty vocal about his suicidal ideation in this chapter. Sorry <3 <3
> 
> Thank you for all the wonderful reads, kudos and comments. I'm glad that people are still enjoying this crazy little AU <3 <3
> 
> Also, I suck at writing romance :-/

The sound of steel hitting silver echoes throughout the camp as Jaskier and Lambert play fight in front of the tent, each moving like well trained swordsman, while also trying to avoid actually cutting their foe, aiming for each other's blades instead.

“You’ll blunt your swords.” Vesemir warns. 

“They can be sharpened.” Lambert shouts back, going in for another swing that Jaskier blocks. 

With visible effort, Jaskier lifts Lambert’s sword with his own, knocking it up and away before stepping back. He dodges the next blow, and as Lambert slowly starts to turn, knocks the other man to the ground with a swift kick. 

Sat with Chireadan and Vesemir on a sunny spot of grass, Yennefer watches them play, enjoying the carefree look on Jaskier’s face as, for a few precious moments, he loses himself in the activity. 

She smiles. 

_You like playing, don’t you my petal_

Dropping the sword that Lambert loaned him, Jaskier holds up his arms, cheering a victory that Yennefer is one hundred percent certain was handed to him on a silver plate by Lambert.

Lost in his celebration, Jaskier forgets about Aiden who, without a second of hesitation, grabs Jaskier, wrestling them both to the ground where the bard shouts his protest. Lambert quickly joins them, holding Jaskier by the arms while Aiden holds him by the ankles. 

“Who's the better fighter?” Lambert says. 

“Me.”

“Take his boots off, Aiden. Let’s see how ticklish he is.”

“NO!” Jaskier laughs, struggling in their grip. “You’re the better fighter. You’re the better fighter.”

The bard is still laughing as he sits up, then something happens. As if a spell has been broken, or rather cast, his face becomes anguished. Tears form in his eyes as he looks at Lambert, saying something that Yennefer can’t hear, although she can lipread the word ‘happy’ well enough.

Lambert possibly whispers something back, because Jaskier nods and let’s the Witcher wrap an arm around him, pulling the other man up to standing and walking with him into the tent. 

Yennefer starts to follow him, only to be stopped by Vesemir.

“He will be fine, Yennefer.” Vesemir smiles as Yennefer sits back down. “Lambert can handle this, don’t worry. Those two have always had a bond.”

Aiden acknowledges the three with a nod as he takes a seat by a nearby tree, settling into a meditation stance. 

“They are close in age.” Vesemir says. “Not by human standpoints, I grant you, but twenty years is a short time for Witchers and Mages.”

“And elf blood.” Yennefer says, turning to smile at Chireadan. “We need to decide what happens now. Does Jaskier stay here with us, or return to Kaer Morhen?”

“Surely that is the bard’s decision?” Chireadan says.

“No.” Yennefer shakes her head. “If we make Jaskier decide, he will feel like he is choosing between us. Better we give him an option that we have all agreed on.”

“He is not made of glass, Yennefer.” Vesemir scolds.

“I know that. But that doesn’t mean we should subject him to emotional anguish needlessly right now.”

“Very well.” Vesemir nods. “Julian is clearly happy here, in your care. In fact, he is flourishing. Miles from the description of pain and illness that the Pellar gave us.”

Yennefer nods, allowing herself a moment of pride in herself and Chireadan. "But, just having you here today has improved his mood."

“And Kaer Morhen IS his home.”

“Even if Geralt does not want him to be there?” Chireadan asks.

“The castle is MY property, not Geralt’s. If he has an issue with Jaskier’s presence there, then he is welcome to sleep in the Bastion.” Vesemir chuckles. “I am hoping it won’t come to that though. I don’t know what has gotten into the Wolf’s thick skull, but I plan to knock some sense back in there. Literally if I have to.”

“The atmosphere will almost certainly be tense.” Chireadan says. “Jaskier is still struggling with his emotions, as we have just seen. An uncomfortable atmosphere will not help that process.”

“But the alternative is that he feels abandoned and left behind?” Yennefer says, quietly. “If you and Lambert go to Kaer Morhen without him?”

They hear a small huff of laughter. 

“Aiden?” Vesemir turns to the Witcher. “What do you think?”

He opens his eyes. “This decision hardly involves me.”

“An outsider’s opinion.” Yennefer suggests.

“Very well.” Aiden stands, folding his arms. “My _outsider's_ opinion. You’re not deciding what to do with one young man, but two. Because I am afraid that anyone who tries to seperate Jaskier and Lambert right now will taste a steel blade. Mine if not Lambert’s.”

“I agree.” Vesemir nods. “Now that they have finally found each other again, they should not be separated. Also, while Lambert hasn’t let it show, he can’t hide what he says in his sleep. Triss’s death has hit him hard, and he won’t be able to hide from that forever.”

Yennefer looks down.

“Perhaps helping the bard with his monsters will also encourage Lambert to find help with his own anger.”

Chireadan leans forward slightly. “Anger?”

Vesemir smiles. “I hope that they can aid each other.”

The elf sits back, thoughtful. 

“Well.” Yennefer nods. “I can’t see Lambert being happy staying in a quiet tent in the middle of a forest.”

“You might be surprised.” Aiden says.

“But the tent, unlike Kaer Morhen, CAN be moved.”

Vesemir looks at Yennefer.

“Why not? I see no reason why we can’t BOTH have what we want. Me and Chireadan can move to Kaer Morhen for the winter.” She turns to look at the elf. “A compromise.”

“I do not think that that is…”

“We set up our tent nearby, stay there, and then Jaskier has somewhere safe to retreat to if Geralt decides to make things difficult. He won’t feel trapped in a fortress where he doesn’t feel wanted. Or where the atmosphere is _uncomfortable_.” She smiles at the elf, and then turns back to Vesemir. “And we’re there to continue helping him, as we have been. I believe that that settles it then. Done.”

“Heaven forbid that I get a say in the matter.” Vesemir says, with a chuckle. “I just hope that we have enough food.”

“So that is that?” Chireadan says. “We just go to Kaer Morhen?”

“If it is what is best for Jaskier.”

“Of course.” Chireadan huffs. “It is your decision, after all.” 

Then he stands up and walks away.

“Chireadan?” Yennefer looks from the retreating elf to Vesemir. “I…”

“Jaskier will be fine with us. Go see what is wrong with your friend.”

Yennefer nods, and goes after him.

* * *

Jaskier nods his thanks as he accepts the waterskin from Lambert, flinching slightly upon realising that it contained something that was quite a bit stronger than water, but drinking it all the same. 

“Doing okay?” Lambert asks, quietly.

Jaskier nods again. “Thanks. Just...still a bit sensitive. Long day.”

“Well, no shit.” Lambert nods as he sits cross legged in front of the bard. “Your emotions must be all over the place.”

“Other people manage…”

“Hey.” Lambert gently knocks a fist against the side of his head. “Other people don’t have whatever the fuck this illness is called bashing them down. You’re doing fine. Give yourself some credit.”

Jaskier sighs, folding in on himself slightly.

“What do you want to do?” Lambert says. “Right now. Forget me, the old man, Yennefer and...the elf guy.”

“Chireadan.”

“Yeah him. Just forget us. You’re responsible for one person’s happiness, and that’s you. So, what do you want to do, Jas? Anything at all.”

“I want to go back?”

“To Kaer Morhen?”

Jaskier shakes his head, his eyes closed.

“To the Pellar?”

Jaskier nods.

Lambert bristles slightly. “You want her to curse you again?”

“It wasn’t a curse.”

“So what WAS it?”

“It was happy.” Jaskier’s voice rises as he opens his eyes. “It was safe. It was...I had energy. I had nothing to fight, nothing to weaken me. I was SO strong. So...and I didn’t want it to end.”

“And now?”

“I’m tired, Lambert.” Jaskier says, looking at his hands. “I’m tired of every fucking day being a fight. I’m tired of having to CONSTANTLY question my own thoughts. Of feeling worthless. Of being...useless. I’m tired, and I am tiring. That’s why Geralt sent me away.”

“Jaskier...”

“I can’t even compose right now! I just look at the lute and it’s...it needs tuning and I just don’t have the energy.”

“So sing something.” Lambert encourages, pointing at his chest. “Don’t need to tune that first.”

“Please, don’t.” Jaskier just shakes his head. “I just want it all to stop. I just...I just want it to stop.”

“Even if it means giving up on being human?”

Jaskier closes his eyes again.

“Hey. Jas, you still believe in me, right?”

He sniffs, and nods.

“Then please, believe me. You’ll compose again. You’ve lost that motivation before, and it’s always come back eventually. Just got to wait it out, a little while longer. And I know it’s hard, but you’re doing great. Don’t make all that fighting and effort be for nothing. Please. You’ve earned the good days that are coming up. Like you and me, tomorrow.”

Jaskier looks at him.

“You and me. Aiden if he wants to come. We’ll leave the oldies to talk about whatever it is old people talk about, and we’ll go. I’ll take you back to the Pellar.”

“You will…”

“And when she sees how much better you are already, I think that old woman is going to be really happy. And proud of you. Sound good?”

Jaskier nods, smiling through tears as he leans against the Witcher. 

“More than anything.”

* * *

Yennefer finds Chireadan sitting on an old tree trunk, his back to her, arms folded, posture guarded. 

“Chireadan?”

“So that is that.” His voice is sharp. “You just go back to Geralt, first chance you have. And what happens when you see him?”

“Oh I am sure that I will go weak in the knees and beg that he take me back with open arms.” She scolds, sitting next to him. “I’m glad you think so much of me.”

“It is not you I think little of.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that I would not blame you.” He looks away.

“Geralt does not control me.”

“No. There is not an entity alive that can do that.” Chireadan gives her a small smile, but is also clearly holding back tears. “But you clearly want to go to Kaer Morhen, and you are free too. I will not stop you.”

“You’re not coming with us?” Yennefer puts a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugs it off.

“I was a fool to think that this could last.” He stands. 

“Nothing is ending.”

“Isn’t it?” Chireadan looks at her, eyes burning. “In Kaer Morhen, you and Jaskier will have the Witchers. And Geralt. And his CHILD of surprise. A child to raise. Your dream.”

Yennefer gives him a small smile.

“You will not...” He shrugs. “The two of you will not need me anymore.”

“Chireadan?” Yennefer stands, stepping forward. “Of course we will.”

Chireadan shakes his head. 

“What do you WANT me to say?”

“It doesn’t matter, Jaskier is the priority...”

“Forget Jaskier, for a moment. He is with Lambert, he’s fine. It is YOU that I am worried about now?”

He steps away from her. 

“What do you want me to say?”

“That...That you love me.” Chireadan whispers, swallowing.

Yennefer smiles, nodding.

“I have loved you from the moment I saw you..." Chireadan chokes out. "And I have dreamed that you might one day love me back. But...but I am a fool. I can not stand between you and Geralt. I know that. You love him. He is your destiny. And you deserve to be with the man you love, you...”

Yennefer shakes her head, and Chireadan’s sentence is cut off by a kiss.

When she pulls away, she smiles, one hand cupping the side of the shocked man’s face. 

“I won’t lie to you. Yes, I do still love Geralt. I think I always will. And a part of me aches to see him again, even now. I’m sorry.”

Chireadan nods.

“But don’t you see? The way I love him, I don’t know that it’s REAL. It was born from a wish. A spell.” Yennefer shakes her head. “And yes it made us happy, but it still bound us together. It’s sickening, if you think about it. It’s madness. And eventually we may destroy eachother because of it...and yet I forgive him.”

“Why?”

“We’ve all made decisions that would have changed with hindsight.” Yennefer sighs. “He did the only thing he thought he could do. Had he not, I would have died in that house. Instead, I am alive. I am here.

"And I am Yennefer of Vengerberg, graduate of Aretuza, soldier of Sodden Hill. And _I_ am more powerful than a Djinn wish. I know what REAL love feels like. And I want that.” 

Yennefer smiles. “If you will have me, then I am with you. For as long as we both want it. Forever, if we can.”

He nods, closing his eyes as she kisses him again, for longer this time. 

When she eventually pulls away, Yennefer uses her thumbs to dry tears from Chireadan’s cheeks. “Please, come with us. We can go as a family to Kaer Morhen. You, me, and Jaskier.”

“Jaskier?”

She places a finger against his lip. “Think about it. The young man brought to us coughing up blood, whose pain we both eased. And when he needed someone again, we found him in that Pellar hut, against all odds.”

“As if it was destiny.” 

She nods. “And now we are going to help Vesemir and the others to raise him back up again.”

The elf swallows. 

“He may not be our family by blood, Chireadan, but he is ours by destiny. And yes things are changing, but they are not ending. NOTHING can break apart the family we have built here. Not Geralt. Not even a Djinn.” She smiles. “Come on. Let’s find somewhere where we won’t be disturbed.”

She reaches behind her, and opens a portal.

Chireadan looks from the portal, to her. "This...this is what you want?"

She takes his hand, and pulls the dumbfounded elf in after her.


	6. Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading <3 <3

_“...the bond that will come into being between you and this child, when it is born, will be extraordinary.”_

They leave Cintra quickly. In fact, Geralt leaves so quickly that Jaskier, who woke up that morning next to a lovely Countess, nearly misses the departure. 

He has to run after the Witcher, who luckily has chosen to ride Roach out via the main road. 

“Well, thanks for waiting for me.” Jaskier quips as he catches up with Geralt and Roach, stopping with his hands on his knees while he catches his breath. 

Standing upright again, he sees that Geralt hasn’t stopped. 

“So, we’re back on the road are we?” Jaskier runs to catch up again. “And there I was thinking we might stay a while, what with being GUESTS of a ROYAL COURT. I had wine in my room, Geralt. Lovely wine. And the lovelier Countess de Stael.”

“You don’t have to follow me, Bard.”

“And...well, I thought you might also want to get to know Pavetta and Duny, now that you’re linked by destiny and all that.”

Geralt glares at him.

“The Law of Surprise is a powerful bond, Geralt. You can’t just ignore it.”

“I should never have claimed it.”

“You couldn’t have known what would happen. Let’s be fair, the Law is a lottery.” Jaskier laughs. “When I was at the Academy, one of my classmates helped a passing merchant fix his broken cart. Claimed the law, and two days later the merchant tells him that he’s inherited his dead uncle's mining company. They went into business together. Still thriving, last I checked.”

Geralt says nothing.

“Then another time, this one I overheard in a tavern, someone claimed the law after helping a baker source his supplies. Found himself the owner of a duck found nesting under the stove.”

Geralt says nothing.

“I imagine a pet duck is rather messy. Nice eggs though.” Jaskier sighs. “Why the long face? A CHILD, Geralt! I mean, that’s the most beautiful thing.”

“He won’t be mine.”

“Well of course he won’t, he’ll be Pavetta and Duny’s. Or She. But you CAN just be a friend still.” His eyes widen. “You could be a not-real uncle. I had a not-real aunt, growing up. My father’s house bard. Lovely woman. VERY good at the lute. It was her that got me into music, actually. Don’t think my father ever forgave her...”

“We will never meet.” Geralt says, quietly. “I will not doom an innocent child to this life.”

“You make it sound like you’ve just cursed the poor prince. I mean, it won’t be a TERRIBLE life, as lives go.” Jaskier looks around. “Traveling the world. Killing monsters. Being a hero. You will read them the best bedtime stories, as I know. And the child will be a Wolf by default, which is a good thing for anyone.”

Geralt lets out a breath that is more like a snarl. 

“I mean yes, life on the road can be hard, but there’s beautiful things as well if you look. There’s Vesemir and Lambert and Eskel and Triss, that’s just for starters. Maybe the child could winter in Kaer Morhen now and again. And...”

“SHUT UP, JASKIER!” Geralt has shouted it hundreds of times during their friendship, but there have only been a few times when Jaskier has realised that he means it. And this is definitely one of them. 

Jaskier lowers his head, eyes fixed on his feet as he kicks dust along the road. 

Geralt sighs.

Later, without a word, he reaches down, inviting the bard to sit on Roach behind him. And Jaskier accepts the invite for the apology that it is, leaning against Geralt’s back, eyes closed, as they ride. 

“It...it will be okay, Geralt.”

Geralt nods, once.

Later, in the camp, Geralt grips a bowl so tightly that it cracks. And Jaskier doesn’t say anything.

* * *

_“If you dismiss it, leave without claiming this child surprise, you will surely unleash true calamity upon us all.”_

Jaskier marvels at how there can still be any monsters left in the continent as Geralt continues his slow, methodical attempt at self annihilation. 

Another day, another fiend or water hag, another nest of drowners or fog of foglets. 

“Talk to me, Geralt.” Jaskier says, as they sit in the tavern afterwards. 

Geralt takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly through his nose.

“You always help me when I’m...down. Let me help you.”

“I do not NEED your help.” Geralt says, sternly. “And I do not need YOU.”

“I’ll...I’ll go up to the room, then.” Jaskier nods, biting at his bottom lip as he stands. “Goodnight, Geralt.”

Later, Geralt comes into the room and Jaskier feels a hand rest on his shoulder briefly. So briefly. 

He accepts the gesture for the apology that it is. 

The next morning, Geralt is gone. Jaskier doesn’t see him again for a month. 

* * *

_“Destiny has spoken, and I have listened.”_

“Geralt?” 

A beach. Geralt doesn’t know where.

He continues to stare out at the ocean. 

“Geralt?” The voice becomes more desperate. 

He snarls, and looks over his shoulder. “WHAT?”

His eyes widen. He turns completely.

Jaskier is covered in cuts, from head to toe. Clothes torn to shreds. His skin is purple and yellow with bruises new and old. Injuries from years of fighting. Years of...

“All the monsters you helped me kill.” Jaskier whispers. “And then you became my biggest one. Jaskier’s monster. Geralt of Rivia.”

Geralt reaches for him, but as soon as his fingers touch the bard’s shoulder, the body disintegrates to ash.

“NO!”

Geralt’s eyes open, but it is a moment before he can move. Breath. He sits up in the bed, kicking the blanket away as if it burns and drawing one knee to his chest, taking deep even breaths in and out. 

His room in Kaer Morhen. Safe. And Jaskier is safe. Somewhere. Probably warming the bed of another man’s wife, or delighting an audience from a stage.

He tells himself this every day. But it is getting harder to believe.

As he drinks from the pitcher, he reaches out with his senses, hearing every mouse footprint and raindrop. And a small, smothered sniff. 

Pulling on a shirt, he walks barefoot through the corridor, climbing the stairs quietly and knocking on the closed wooden door. “Ciri?”

When he receives no answer, he cracks the door open, peering through to see the young girl sitting up in her bed, hugging a pillow to her chest. 

“Ciri?”

She looks up, apparently hearing him for the first time. 

“Bad dreams?”

She nods, and then shrugs, and then nods again.

Geralt sighs, inviting himself into the room and sitting on the edge of her bed. “Well, I can...sit with you for awhile. If you want?”

She nods, looking back down at the bedspread. 

“You found a book.” Geralt says, picking it up from the bedside table and opening it to the first page. 

“It was on the shelf.” Ciri says, quietly. “Otkell. It was my grandfather’s favourite story.”

Geralt nods. “This being a telling of the adventures of Otkell, to be known as The Hero of Skellige.”

Smiling, Ciri lays back down, pulling the blanket back up over herself. 

“But when our story finds him, he is just as any other young man, sailing to Hindarsfjall with his father and their crew...”

He remembers reading this to Jaskier as they sat on a grass bank near Kaer Morhen, the bard’s head in Geralt’s lap.

“The night was quiet as Otkell stood watch…”

_Jaskier is covered in cuts, from head to toe. Clothes torn to shreds._

_“All the monsters you helped me kill. And then you became my biggest one.”_

Geralt closes his eyes. A silent apology. 

* * *

Despite his exhaustion, Jaskier finally gives up on trying to sleep, climbing out of the bed and slowly lifting the blanket door separating his small section from the rest of the tent. 

Yennefer and Chireadan are asleep, wrapped up in each other, and Jaskier can’t help the smile it brings to his face. They deserve it, happiness. The happiness they give each other. 

Yennefer has added another room to the tent, and within this he finds Lambert, Aiden and Vesemir, their bedrolls set in a row, separated by their swords.

A part of Jaskier still can’t believe that Lambert and Vesemir are here. And then he swallows.

They are leaving for Kaer Morhen tomorrow, he knows this. And then, when they get there, Jaskier will have to face Geralt. 

What if Geralt turns him away?

What if Jaskier isn’t ready to forgive him?

He clutches a hand to his chest, the fingers curled. Because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know and that is the worst part.

He looks at Lambert. At Vesemir. His family, a family that Jaskier might tear apart. Because he doesn’t know if he is ready to forgive Geralt. To risk being hurt by the witcher again. The witcher who has so much power over him, who as good as held Jaskier’s heart in his hands for years, and then slowly crushed it. 

He startles as a hand rests against his shoulder, turning to return Yennefer’s smile. 

“Worried that they’ll get up and leave without you?”

“Maybe…” Jaskier shrugs. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” Yennefer’s hand slides down his arm to grip his own. “You look tired. Bad dreams?”

“Haven’t gotten that far yet. Can’t sleep.”

“You’re thinking too much.” She nods, gently tugging on his arm. “Do you need to talk?”

Jaskier shakes his head. 

“Come on then, Bard.”

Yennefer enters Jaskier’s little alcove first, pulling the blankets back from the bed and encouraging the bard to lay down before pulling them back over him, smoothing them down. Then she kneels on the ground next to the lute case, opening it and retrieving the book from the holder on the lid. 

She climbs back onto the bed, opening the book into her lap.

“Thank you.” Jaskier says.

“I will not be doing voices.” She smiles.

The bard chuckles. 

“Close your eyes.” She says, running a hand up and down his arm, while the other holds the book open.

“This being a telling of the adventures of Otkell...” Yennefer reads quietly. “...to be known as The Hero of Skellige.”

As she tells the story, she sees movement out of the corner of her eye, and turns to see Chireadan peering around the blanket door, his expression one of fond amusement as he settles down to sit on the floor at the entrance.

Yennefer looks back to the book, reading to them both. 

“But when our story finds him, he is just as any other young man, sailing to Hindarsfjall with his father and their crew...”

* * *

Ciri is fast asleep when Geralt reaches the end of the chapter, quietly closing the book and placing it back on the bedside table before he just sits and watches her. 

A child. His child surprise. The child he had cursed to this life with a few careless words. He feels the anger boil inside of him, climbing into his throat and...

Except Ciri doesn’t look cursed. She lays with a calm expression, lips curled in a small smile, eyes moving between the lids as she dreams. Maybe dreams of Skellige and ships now, instead of Nilfgaard and monsters.

Geralt hopes so.

He doesn’t realise at first that he has reached out, his fingers gently moving the hair away from Ciri’s face and encouraging it to lay out across the pillow. Ciri sighs, but doesn’t wake, mumbling something incoherent that isn’t in any language that Geralt knows and might not actually be a language at all. It makes him smile all the same. 

How did this child just slot so seamlessly into his life, like she had always been there? 

The same way a young bard had, so many years ago.

It occurs to Geralt that Jaskier had not been that much older than Ciri. Barely five years. A blink of an eye for a Witcher.

Geralt is shaken from his thoughts by a humming sound. His medallion. He picks it up, holding it out where he can see it, before dropping it and standing. 

Fuck. He doesn’t have his swords nearby. And Ciri is here. 

Geralt turns, and sees that Ciri is now standing behind him, eyes wide, stance confident as she holds out a sword.

“Where?”

“Always keep your sword close.” She says sternly, a flash of her grandmother in her eyes as she hands Geralt the sword. One of Lambert’s spares, he realises. 

He grips the hilt, and heads for the door. “Stay under the bed.”

Ciri ignores him, of course.

She keeps moving. 

They race to the main hall, Geralt standing in front of the portal. No point trying to hide or plan an ambush. Sometimes the best defence was an attack.

And Geralt...drops the sword.

“Eskel.” Geralt steps forward and grips both of the other witcher’s arms in greeting.

“Geralt.” Eskel just laughs, shaking his head. “I…”

Behind Eskel are his travelling companions, a young woman covered in jewelry, and a hooded figure stood with their head bowed. 

The first woman, who is clearly tired from making a portal for three, steps forward. “So you’re the famous White Wolf.” She looks him up and down.

Eskel nods. “Geralt, this is Keira Metz. She found me in Oxenfurt, she...you won’t believe it.”

“Believe what?”

And Eskel just smiles, before turning to his second travel companion as she lowers her hood, looking around the hall with wide, amazed eyes that then settle on the witchers.

Geralt blinks, swallows, looks from Eskel to Ciri and then back to Eskel. 

Then he turns, and faces the newcomer, looking her up and down, voice reduced to a breathless whisper as he steps towards her. 

“Triss?” 


	7. Little Mouse

Geralt rushes towards Triss, meaning to hug her as he has done so many times, to just use touch to confirm that she is real, that she is there, alive and…

...she immediately darts back, crying out, lightning in her fingers, and Geralt stops in his tracks. 

Keira places an arm around Triss’s shoulders, her other hand held up to warn Geralt back as she hushes the startled sorceress, encouraging the chaos to die down. 

“Triss, this is Geralt.” Eskel says.

Triss nods, looking at the white haired Witcher with wide eyes. “Geralt? Yes. Eskel told me about you. Sorry.”

“No need to apologise, darling Triss.” Keira says. “Now, just like we discussed. Look around. Do you recognise anything in this room?”

Triss nods, studying the hall as she steps out of Keira’s embrace.

She shakes her head. “No.” 

Eskel sighs.

“It’s all...wait…” She looks at the floor. “I...I was here? We stood here...” And quietly, under her breath, Triss starts to sing. 

“To pull on my horn, as it rises in the morn.”

Recognising the song, Geralt looks at Eskel. 

“For 'tis naught, but bad luck…” Triss smiles, closing her eyes as she steps from side to side. 

“Triss?” Geralt says.

“We were dancing here. Me and a boy with a lute...Jaskier. I remember!” She opens her eyes, looking over her shoulder at Eskel. “Is it a memory?”

Eskel nods, the joy clear on his face.

“I remember.” She laughs, her arms wide. “We danced and sang here. And then…” Her smile falters. “I don’t...I can’t...”

“It’s alright, Triss.” Keira places her hands on her friend’s shoulders. “That you remembered anything at all is a good sign.” She turns to Eskel. “This Jaskier, seeing him again might help Triss. Is he here?”

Geralt shakes his head. 

“No.” Eskel’s voice is cold as he looks at Geralt.

“Well.” Keira smiles at Triss. “You have your own room here, I believe.”

“It’s just how you left it, Triss.” Eskel says, brightening again. “Vesemir insisted.”

“I know where it is.” Ciri steps forward, reaching out for Triss’s hand. “Hello, I’m Fio...I’m...” She stops herself, looking at Geralt.

The Witcher nods. “This is Ciri.”

“I can show you where your room is.” Ciri smiles as she gently starts to lead Triss towards her room. “It is one of the best rooms in the fortress. And from the balcony you can see right across the forest. I’ve been keeping it clean. Lambert made me promise...”

Geralt and Eskel hang back as Ciri leads the sorceresses away.

“What happened to her?” Geralt says, once they are out of earshot. 

“Sodden happened.” Eskel says, harshly. “They found her on a roadside in White Orchard. Keira thinks she tried to portal to Kaer Morhen, but her magic failed. Panicking, or in pain. Or both.” Eskel shakes his head. “The chaos shock is probably what damaged her memory.”

Geralt nods. 

“A herbalist took her in, luckily one that had the good sense to check for marks.”

“Marks?”

Eskel taps his arm. “Tiny little tattoo Triss has on her wrist. Tells people she’s allergic to flowers. Anyway, this herbalist, Tomara or Tomira...well she took Triss in. Our girl was in a bad way. Burned and exhausted from the portal attempt.”

“Burned?”

Eskel nods. “Right across her chest. Looks like someone held a flame against her.”

Geralt tenses, snarling under his breath.

“So, Triss is healing in White Orchard, and word gets around about the mystery woman. A travelling mage takes interest, and recognises Triss as Keira’s apprentice. Meanwhile I’m in Redania chasing information on Jaskier, so I was easy enough for Keira to find. She knew about Triss’s connections with us, of course. Then it was just waiting for Triss to be strong enough to travel here. Long process. Keira had some flower free recipes, but they weren’t as effective.”

“And you didn’t think to contact us?” Geralt shouts. “Let us know Triss is alive.”

“HOW? Couldn’t send word to Kaer Morhen and risk Nilfgaard finding you.” 

“Could have portaled here.”

“I didn’t want to leave Triss. Sorry if my priorities were NOT Geralt of Rivia.” Eskel shakes his head. “And Vesemir and Lambert are fuck knows where right now. Lambert looked up a friend to help them track Jaskier down.”

“Lambert has a friend?” 

“I’m as surprised as you. Anyway that’s the last I heard from them. We were supposed to meet back here.”

Geralt nods. “They’re not back yet.”

“Going to be one hell of a shock for them, Triss being alive.” Eskel says.

Geralt nods. “Do you think they will find Jaskier?”

“I think Vesemir will tear the continent in half trying.” Eskel says, crossing his arms. “Come on, Triss will have questions.”

Geralt stops for a moment, looking back into the main hall and remembering. Remembering the many winters in Kaer Morhen, Jaskier playing his lute while Eskel and Triss danced in the hall, laughing and carefree.

One time, Eskel had grabbed Geralt and pulled him into the dance. Geralt had been reluctant, until he saw the smile it brought to Jaskier’s face, his eyes shining as he switched to a tune that he knew Geralt liked, the song that the bard had started writing for Roach on his nineteenth birthday. 

And they danced, the four of them. Danced while Vesemir chuckled and Lambert, sat up near the books, pretended not to be amused by it all.

Geralt smiles as he alters the scene in his mind, adding Ciri there as well, dancing with them. Or maybe sitting with Vesemir and watching. Or maybe hiding among the sanity of the books with Lambert.

Whatever happens, Geralt hopes that it might be a reality soon.

“Geralt?”

In his mind’s eye, Geralt focuses on the scene one last time, and then turns to follow Eskel.

* * *

Jaskier watches as Lambert readies the horses. 

“This isn’t a good idea.”

“Jas, if we walk we’ll be half the day. And my horse won’t take two riders.” He shrugs. “Volt barely tolerates me.”

“But Vesemir…”

“Is asleep.” Lambert finishes putting the tack on Vesemir’s horse, his voice dropping to a lower volume as he addresses her directly. “Be a good girl for our bard, Mignole.”

The horse huffs, clearly enjoying the attention as Lambert strokes her mane a few times. 

Jaskier, meanwhile, is looking from the horse to the tent and then back again. 

“Well, go wake him if you’re THAT worried.”

“He hates being woken up.”

“Jaskier. It will be fine. He won’t mind. We’ve left the note. They’ll know where we are. It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve borrowed Mignole.”

Jaskier nods mutely as he accepts the reins from Lambert. 

“You’re SURE Vesemir won’t mind?”

“If he does, it’ll be ME he gets pissed with. He loves you.”

“He loves you too.” Jaskier whispers. 

“Get on the horse, Jas.” Lambert says as he mounts his own horse. “We’re losing time.”

Jaskier wants to argue further, or apologies, or both. But he can hear the tension mounting in Lambert’s voice. And more than anything he doesn’t want to upset his friend. So he swallows what feels like stones back down into his stomach, and mounts Mignole, patting the side of her neck before urging her forward toward the road.

“Looking forward to seeing your Pellar friend again?”

Jaskier nods. 

“Be thinking what you’re going to say to her.”

“Goodbye.” Jaskier whispers, his hold on his emotions becoming weaker when he feels Lambert grip his arm. 

“Hey.” Lambert smiles when Jaskier looks at him. “Feeling up to a gallop? Volt is getting restless, and I know Mignole likes to go fast.”

Jaskier nods, securing himself in the saddle before urging the horse on. 

* * *

The Pellar’s garden is in full bloom as they arrive, Lambert dismounting first before helping Jaskier down from his horse. It surprises Jaskier, the sudden surge of protectiveness from the witcher, but he says nothing as Lambert pats his shoulder, and then nods towards the door. “I can hear her, she’s in there.”

He nods, slowly making his way down the garden path while Lambert secures the horses. 

Jaskier remembers making this journey once before, heavy with sorrow, the lute a burden to his back. The bag of coins had already been in his hand when he knocked. 

It feels like yesterday.

The door opens, and Jaskier feels himself freeze. The kind eyes, gentle voice, motherly smile. Hello seems such a stupid word all of the sudden. 

“Young Witcher! Welcome back and...” She gasps, breaking into a smile. “My Petal? Yes, Jaskier, look at you. You’re glowing.” Without another word, she pulls the bard into a hug and Jaskier nearly breaks right there and then, his own arms wrapping around the smaller woman as he rests his cheek against the scarf covering her hair.

Something brushes against Jaskier’s leg, and he looks down to see tiny yellow eyes look up at him from a squashed black face.

The kitten looks from Jaskier to Lambert, and immediately runs to the Witcher. 

“Oh good, you’re still here.” Lambert says with a bored tone as the kitten climbs up onto his boot, meowing and pawing at his ankle in a bid for attention.

Jaskier looks from the kitten to The Pellar.

“Don’t worry, Jaskier. That one is a natural cat.” She chuckles. “Poor thing was going to be drowned as a runt. The town children rescued her, brought her to me. Now she is my Little Mouse.”

Lambert shakes his head as the cat pulls at the material of his trousers, gaining purchase. 

The Pellar smiles. “She still adores you, Young Witcher.”

“Then she remains a fuck awful judge of character.” He looks from The Pellar to the kitten. “Cats are supposed to hate Witchers. Told you last time.”

“I’m glad you have her.” Jaskier smiles. “I’m glad you’re not alone.”

“And I am glad that you are so much better.” She smiles. “Are you?”

He returns her smile, nodding, but then looks down. “We’re leaving. Heading north. I came to say thank you. For everything that you did for me. For looking after me when I was sick. You saved my life, and I can never thank you enough.”

“Seeing you so healthy is thanks enough. You deserve it and more, Jaskier.” She gently cups the sides of his face with her hands, thumb stroking his cheek. “You and your beautiful soul. I could see it when you first came to me. And it is so much brighter now. Promise me that you will continue to grow stronger.”

He nods.

“I would have you come in for tea, but your young friend is looking eager to leave.”

“I’m good.” Lambert says dryly, still looking at the kitten that is currently halfway up the outside of his trouser leg, and continuing to climb. “Take your time. Drink tea. Please.”

The Pellar laughs warmly, and then goes to rescue Lambert from the kitten.

“Seriously, what is it about me that cats love?” Lambert holds up his hands.

* * *

Yennefer emerges from the tent to find Aiden practicing sword moves on the other side of the camp. Nearby, Vesemir is loading saddle bags onto their cart, as well as their bedrolls.

“Need any help, Witcher?” 

“Almost finished here.” Vesemir says, turning to look at her. “No Chireadan?”

Yennefer shakes her head. “Let him sleep.”

“Wear him out did you?” 

Yennefer widens her eyes, her face somewhere between exasperation and a laugh. 

“I am happy for you both.” Vesemir says. Then he becomes more somber. “A word of warning from the wise. YOU are an extraordinary woman, Yennefer. Never let that elf take anything about you for granted. And don’t allow yourself to take him for granted in turn. Kindness like his is all too rare in this world.”

“I know, and I won’t.” Yennefer looks around. “Where…”

“Lambert has taken Julian on an outing. With MY horse.” Vesemir fakes annoyance in his voice. “They should be back soon.”

Yennefer crosses her arms. “I’m curious about something, Witcher?”

“I invite you to appease that curiosity, Sorceress.”

“Jaskier.” Yennefer says. “Everyone uses his bard name except you?”

“It was the name he introduced himself as. And using it became an old habit, born from a foolish notion.”

“Notion?” 

Vesemir sighs. “When I first met him, he was still a child by the years of you and I, but he was already world weary. 

“He had built this persona of Jaskier. This happy, carefree boy immune to what his illness threw at him. He hid his pain for the benefit of others, and he was fighting to maintain the mask of Jaskier every day. Eventually he couldn’t fight anymore. Not because of weakness!”

“Weak is the last word I would use to describe him.”

“By the time Julian and I met, he had lost the strength to be Jaskier. Although he kept trying. Kept trying to put that mask back on, even though the effort hurt him. Made his monsters stronger.”

Yennefer nods. 

“I suppose I wanted to never acknowledge that mask. I wanted to give him a safe place. One person that he knew he could be himself around. That he could rest beside.”

“You want him to only ever be his real self around you.” She nods. “You are a good father to him, Vesemir.”

“And you are a good mother.” 

Yennefer looks away.

“I have seen the way you care for Julian. And how much he loves you in return.” Vesemir rests a hand between Yennefer’s shoulder blades. “Should destiny ever give you a child, Yennefer, I believe that that child will be blessed.”

Yennefer opens her mouth to say something, and then closes it, nodding.

Vesemir sighs, and looks past Yennefer to the edge of the camp. “Oh for Melitele’s SAKE, Aiden!”

Aiden stops his routine, looking from the left to the right before looking at Vesemir. “What did I do?”

“Bloody Cat School training.” The older Witcher shakes his head and marches away from the cart, drawing his sword. “Right. stand facing me. Yennefer, take my steel sword and join in. We have nothing better to do until the boys return.”

Yennefer smiles as she accepts the blade from Vesemir.

“Right.” Vesemir looks them. “Let’s discuss stance. Yennefer, your stance is perfect.”

Aiden glares at her. “Show off.”

Yennefer smiles, and they begin their training.


	8. Promise to Talk

Coming out of the Pellar’s hut, Lambert takes both horses by the reins, leading them along the road while Jaskier walks beside him. 

Once they are out of sight of the hut, the witcher stops, looking down at the ground. 

“Lambert?” Jaskier asks, quietly. 

Lambert’s expression is...angry...for a moment, then he sombers, looking at Jaskier. “I need to tell you something, Jas?”

The agonizing seconds that follow feel like hours for Jaskier as Lambert lets out a breath. 

“Yesterday. Some of what you said. Look, you scared me. You scared the fuck out of me, because I’ve heard people talk crap like that before, and it’s before they go fight a fiend or dive into a nekker’s nest with the wrong sword or...or something else…”

“Suicidal.”

Lambert grits his teeth. “I just…” Dropping the reins for a moment, the witcher steps towards Jaskier, and grips his shoulders, eyes fixed on the other man’s chest. 

“I’m going to tell you something I’ve only ever told ONE other person.”

Jaskier nods, and Lambert looks him in the eye. 

“I love you, okay Jas. I love you. You’re my brother and my best friend. And knowing that you’re feeling like this…”

And then Jaskier finds himself pulled into a hug.

It surprises him, because Lambert NEVER hugs, and the Gods only know how badly Jaskier must have frightened his friend if THIS is his reaction. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.” Lambert pushed him back, holding him by the arms. “Never apologise for this. It’s not...it’s not your fault. Just...promise that you will talk to someone. Me, or Vesemir, or the witch…”

“Yennefer.”

“You’ll talk to someone. Promise me. Say it.”

Jaskier nods, mouthing the words.  _ I promise. _

“Do you...do you feel like you need to...stop...now?”

“A little.”

Lambert nods. And Jaskier is in the hug again, eyes closed, nothing but Lambert’s gentle, meditative breathing to listen to, a hand on his back to feel, and he doesn’t think. Just...IS, for a moment.

“Lambert?”

“I’m here.”

“Thank you.”

More silence. Then Lambert chuckles. 

“Vesemir is going to kill us.”

“Why?”

“Look at the sky.” Jaskier looks up. “Our talk with the Pellar took the whole day.” 

It is Jaskier who steps back from the embrace when they hear humming, and horse hooves. 

“Ah good. My tracking skills are as sharp as ever.” Aiden dismounts, looking from Jaskier to Lambert. “Went back to the Pellar, did you?”

“Yeah.” Lambert nods. “Sorry, wasn’t planning to be so long.”

“Oh what’s one more day. It’s a mild winter. You have plenty of time before the path freezes. If it does at all.”

Lambert nods. “Why are you packed onto your horse? We have a cart…”

“Yes, but me and the cart are not going in the same direction.” Aiden smiles. “I’m not going to Kaer Morhen.”

“Why? Vesemir...”

“Vesemir invited me, before you go shouting at the poor man. I thanked him, but then turned him down. I was never one for outstaying my welcome.” Aiden reaches out, accepting Lambert’s handshake. “I came here to help you to find your friend, and that contract is fulfilled.”

Lambert nods. “Old man pay you?”

Aiden points at the bag attached to his belt. “With interest.”

Jaskier smiles. “Where are you wintering?”

“Novigrad. Got an ongoing arrangement with a delightful lady whose husband got eaten by drowners.”

Lambert nods. “You try to rescue him?”

“Oh on the contrary, my dear.” Aiden grins. “I pushed the abusive louse into the nest.”

Lambert chuckles. “Good man.”

“Not as good as this one.” Aiden ruffles Jaskier’s hair, earning a grimace from the bard. “Look after Lambert for me, Master Pankratz.”

“I will.”

Aiden tips an imaginary hat at Lambert, and then climbs back onto the horse. “Good luck on the road.”

“And you.”

The two men watch Aiden ride off, then Lambert picks up the reins. 

“We should get back to camp.” He looks at Jaskier. “Ready?”

“Yes.” The bard nods, accepting the reins for his horse. 

* * *

They leave early the next morning, Vesemir and Lambert riding ahead on the road, while the cart follows them, a small family sitting at the front.

There may have been a time when Yennefer had found such domesticity sickening. But not now. 

Jaskier sits between her and Chireadan, the bard focused on his hands in his lap. Reaching out, Yennefer rests her own hand over them, smiling when Jaskier looks at her. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Jaskier nods. “Just a lot to think about.”

Yennefer widens her smile, encouraging him with a gentle squeeze of his hand. “Nervous about seeing Geralt, again?”

After a moment, Jaskier nods.

“Don’t be.” She tightens her grip on his hand. “Whatever happens at Kaer Morhen, it will be alright.”

“But what if it isn’t?” Jaskier looks down, closing his eyes when Chireadan’s hand rests on his shoulder, the cart having come to a stop. 

“If Geralt…” Jaskier swallows. “I don’t want to be the reason the family falls apart.”

“Jaskier.” Yennefer shakes her head. “Look around.” She indicates the road ahead of them, two witchers on horseback currently engaged in a lively argument about the merits of John of Brugge.

“You are what brought us together.” She picks up Jaskier’s hand, moving it so that they both rest on Chireadan’s own hand for a moment. 

“You and Chireadan already had…”

“We had a friendship.” Chireadan says. 

“YOU made it a family.” Yennefer insists, before looking back at the witchers. “And those two travelled across the continent to find you, and Eskel might even STILL be looking for you. Because they love you. You make THEM a family as well. And that family is more powerful than any argument. Whatever happens, it will still be there afterwards.” She smiles. “You are so important to all of us, and no one can change that. And, I believe that you are still important to Geralt as well.”

Yennefer wraps her arms around Jaskier, and the bard is embraced between them.

“I’m proud of you, bard.”

“We both are.” The elf agrees.

“And we are always going to be with you.”

Jaskier lets out a shaky breath, and nods.

After a moment, they break apart, and Jaskier climbs into the back of the cart.

Yennefer helps him. “Tired?”

“Didn’t sleep last night.” He says as he lays down against the travelling bag.

“There is a blanket in the crate beside you.”

Jaskier nods, pulling the blanket out and covering himself with it, while Chireadan starts the cart horse moving again. 

Shifting slightly, Yennefer rests a hand on Chireadan’s shoulder for a moment before climbing into the back of the cart as well, settling into a seated position next to Jaskier. Reaching out, she runs a gentle hand through his hair, then encourages the bard to lay against her, his head on her shoulder while Yennefer’s hand runs up and down his arm.

“Yen? Chireadan? Can I tell you something?”

She smiles down at him and the elf nods, turning slightly to his side as he listens.

“I...the way I felt when I let the Pellar curse me. I just...I just wanted everything to stop.” Jaskier lets out a shaky breath. “And I...I still feel like that sometimes. Like I just can’t fight anymore. That it’s not worth it. Like I need to escape. 

“I know I shouldn’t, with everything you’re doing for me...but...it happens more and more...and...I’m scared that...”

Yennefer hushes him. “I understand. Believe me when I tell you that I understand.” she smiles. “Thank you for trusting us.”

Jaskier nods, and Yennefer tightens the embrace.

“Lambert knows.” Jaskier looks at Yennefer. “Could you...I want to tell Vesemir as well. Will you two be there when I do. I’m worried that…”

“He won’t be disappointed.” She smiles.

“But yes.” Chireadan says over his shoulder. “We will be there when you tell him.”

Jaskier nods, and settles down, closing his eyes. 

“Is there anything we can do to help you feel safer now?” Chireadan asks.

“I feel safe here.” Jaskier curls up in Yennefer’s embrace, closing his eyes. It isn’t long before his breathing has slowed.

After a moment, Vesemir stops his horse at the side of the road, waiting for the cart to catch up so that he can ride beside it, looking down at the bard. 

The older Witcher reaches out his hand, and Yennefer watches as the glow of axii settles over Jaskier’s head for a moment. The bard lets out a long breath, before smiling in his sleep.

“Pleasant dreams?” Yennefer asks.

Vesemir doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“You could hear him?”

“Thank you, Yennefer. Chireadan.” Vesemir acknowledges them each with a nod. “Thank you for looking after him.”

“It is a group effort.” Chireadan says.

Vesemir continues to ride alongside the cart, a silent guard for its passengers. 

Chireadan fills the silence with descriptions of the flowers they pass, and which medicinal potions they can be used in. Lambert in turn tells the elf about their use in Witcher recipes.

Yennefer listens, smiles, and holds the sleeping Jaskier in her arms.

There may have been a time when Yennefer had found such domesticity sickening. But not now. 

Now, this family is the most powerful that Yennefer of Vengerberg has ever been. And she will make them powerful in turn.

* * *

Geralt quietly opens the door to Triss’s room, letting out a sigh as he finds Ciri, curled up on her side next to the sleeping Triss. 

Smiling, Geralt picks up a spare blanket from on top of the dresser, and spreads it out over the sleeping princess before sitting down next to the bed, arms crossed while he watches Ciri and Triss sleep, their hands held, already sisters. 

As time passes, Geralt stands, going to the balcony and looking out over the forest. 

“She needs you, Jaskier.” He whispers. “WE need you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the next fic will be the last fic in this series. And that fic will be...*drum roll*...my addition to the "Geralt and Jaskier meet after the Dragon Hunt" fic collection :'-)
> 
> Thank you for all the lovely reads / comments / kudos / bookmarks / subscriptions


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